


(Complications Are) The Makings of All That's Wrong

by hopefulwriter27



Category: Criminal Minds, Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-17
Updated: 2011-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 04:51:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopefulwriter27/pseuds/hopefulwriter27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Kurt struggles for acceptance at his new job and balance with his husband, there's a an unknown danger lurking in the shadows ready to consume him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Complications Are) The Makings of All That's Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> This is future fic. Kurt and Dave are adults. However, I kept the Criminal Minds characters their same age. So, timeline screwing. I've had the pleasure (and luck) to work with three wonderful betas. Thank you lerabird for holding me accountable for plot holes and Criminal Minds character defuncts. Traciamc, as always you are quick, efficient and lovely to work with. And, irishprophet913, your grammar ninja skills still come in handy (and thanks for reading this even though neither fandoms are your cup of tea).
> 
> This story was originally posted as part of the 2011 Kurt Big Bang. You can visit the archive post to see the artwork created by dearthursday! (http://kurtbigbang.livejournal.com/19562.html)

  


 

 ** (Complications Are) The Makings of All That’s Wrong **

by hopefulwriter27

 

 

“Mad is a term we use to describe a man who is obsessed with one idea and nothing else.”  
–Ugo Betti

 

 

 ** Part 1 **

_October 15_

 _His suit was silver, not gray. It shimmered in the dim light of the building, sparkling like the gleam of a brand new car. Though designer clothing isn’t my specialty, I could tell from the sheen of his sunset colored shirt that it was expensive. I’ve never met a man who took such care of himself. So many people don’t these days. The world is littered with dirty scum._

 _He smiled in greeting, blue eyes turning my day into something worth waking for. He was eight minutes late today. We spoke for a brief minute, exchanging morning pleasantries. I could smell the sweet scent of his morning coffee, the steam still rising from the hole in his travel mug. I knew he wanted to stay longer. His spirit is kind and generous, and when he asks me how I’m doing, I know he really wanted to know._

 _His phone rang. Apologetic, he answered. Apprehension clouded his gaze, and I knew that the cruelty of the world was pulling him away from me. His conversation ended quickly. He tucked his phone into his pocket, and turned to wish me a goodbye. I watched him until he disappeared._

 _I already miss him._

 

  
When Kurt enters the bullpen, or as he not-so-secretly calls it, the Drab Room of Doom, Prentiss is perched on the edge of Reid’s desk. The sharp cut of her dark hair hides her face as she dips her head to talk to the resident genius.

 _Those two are up to no good,_ Kurt thinks. Reid’s chewing on a red gummy bear; his thin hand already inside the over-sized bag searching for more of the sugary treats.  Kurt scans the room for Morgan, because the three agents are like peas in a pod. He finds the handsome man around the corner stirring sugar into his coffee. Morgan reaches for the small container of vanilla-caramel creamer.

“You’re supposed to be the healthy one,” Kurt says, grabbing the man’s attention. Morgan raises an eyebrow in Kurt’s direction but continues to pour enough creamer to tan his drink.

“I’m allowed to have some vices,” Morgan quips. He sticks the thin red stirrer into his mouth and sucks off the flavored coffee.

 _That man’s mouth should be illegal,_ Kurt thinks. Dimples curl around Morgan’s smile as Prentiss calls out to him to hurry up. The crisp whiteness of his teeth is stark against his dark skin. _You’re married, and your very loving husband won’t approve of lustful thoughts towards your coworker,_ Kurt reminds himself. The first and only time Dave met Morgan, he and Kurt spent the entire night arguing about everything under the stars. Jealously has been known to come up on both sides of Kurt’s marriage.  From Dave’s occasional conversations with his ex to Kurt’s wandering eyes, both men have their own issues and insecurities to work on. _It’s just the eyes,_ Kurt tells himself to ease his own guilt. He’d never cheat on Dave.   _Besides,_ Kurt thinks as Morgan walks past, _Morgan is very straight and makes no qualms about telling me so._

Kurt weaves around Prentiss’s desk, narrowly missing being bumped by the back of Morgan’s rolling chair. “Sorry,” Morgan apologizes with a half-grin and a shrug. He twists his chair around to face Prentiss and Reid.

“What’s going on?” Kurt asks. He stills near Prentiss’s hanging foot, noting absently that she had taken his advice. Just because she was a working woman and spent most of her time on her feet didn’t mean she had to look any less fabulous. A little heel on a pair of dress boots is good for the soul. He looks around for their commander-in-chief. “Where’s Hotch?” The door to the smaller meeting room is closed. A sneaking suspicion creeps up Kurt’s spine. “And Rossi?” he adds.

Plastic crinkles as Reid pops a yellow gummy bear into his mouth. He wipes his hand down his too-big khaki pants and says, “Hotch and Rossi are meeting with the DA who’s prosecuting the Tim Jenkins case.”

 _Tim Jenkins._ The name leaves a bitter shadow over Kurt’s soul. He was the third case Kurt had worked with the BAU team. The man had taunted the media, sending in pictures of the girls he tortured with lovingly picked lines of famous poetry. Blood soaked carpet and pale-faced dolls haunt his dreams even now. Kurt will never forget Maggie Ryan’s mother clinging to his shoulders, faint and wrecked in her grief.

Kurt crosses his arms, tucking his fingers into his body. “Why are they meeting without me? I was a part of that case.” Technically, as media liaison, Kurt should be involved in every meeting with outside parties. However, he’s still new enough that some of the older cases are being handled by Hotchner.

Prentiss straightens from her slouch on Reid’s desk. Her- _very tasteful if he does say so himself_ \- black Calvin Klein pants brush against the metal siding. “Believe me, Hotch is doing you a favor. They’re meeting with Lopez, the DA who was appointed last year. She’s a bulldozer. A meeting with her leaves you needing a drink and a trip to the ER,” she says.

Coming from Prentiss, who’s one of the toughest ladies Kurt’s ever had the pleasure of working with, that’s saying something. Kurt eyes the closed door. It’s too far away for him to hear anything, but the unit chief of the FBI’s premier behavioral analysis unit isn’t known for his boisterous demeanor. _Serious, intense, and as fun as a bowl of oatmeal would be a better description,_ Kurt muses silently. In the eight weeks Kurt has been with the BAU he has yet to see the man crack a smile, even when Reid pulls out his deck of cards and magic rings. Still, as fun as it sounds going into a meeting with his boss, Mr. Personality, and the apparently scary DA, Kurt knows that if he’s ever going to create a space for himself here, he needs to stand his ground and do his job. He takes a deep breath and begins to pull the details of the Jenkins’ case to mind. A rock settles in his stomach and tension tightens his shoulders.

“Hummel,” Morgan says, yanking Kurt from his thoughts. Kurt’s eyes snap to Morgan’s frowning face. “I really think you should let Hotch and Rossi handle this one. Lopez is a tough cookie, and if you aren’t prepared, she’ll tear you apart.”

Morgan’s been nothing but friendly since Kurt started. He offers Kurt advice, and smiles when Kurt cracks a joke. He even stayed at the airport with Kurt to make sure his ride arrived the first time their flight came in forty-five minutes earlier than Kurt had planned.  Kurt can’t deny that Morgan is a good man. All of the other agents seem to love him. In spite of all that, Kurt can’t help but feel that Morgan is uncomfortable with him.   

Kurt’s never heard Morgan crack a gay joke or make any sly comment. He does tease Kurt about his clothes, but it’s the same type of teasing he gives Garcia when she’s wearing something outrageous. Morgan’s a laid back kind of guy, he’s not the type of man to focus on prejudices, but he definitely isn’t comfortable with Kurt the way he is with everyone else. Kurt likes to think that familiarity will breed comfort, and one day Morgan can relax around him.

Kurt stiffens. “I appreciate the concern, but I’ve dealt with difficult situations my whole life, one bulldog isn’t going to scare me away from doing my job.”

Morgan holds out his hands and lifts his shoulders. “I’m just trying to help you out.”

“She is rather intimidating,” Reid chirps, adding his two cents. He holds up his hand, fingers pointing towards the ceiling, and says, “Did you know that females in positions of power, like our lady DA, are typically more aggressive than men in that same position?”

 _Oh, here we go,_ Kurt thinks. He likes Reid, he really does. The man is charming in a sort of geeky, intellectual way. He was the first of the agents to warm up to Kurt, joking and laughing despite his obvious feelings towards Jennifer Jareau, the previous media liaison. However, Kurt gets tired of his ever spouting fountain of facts, even if they are useful on occasion.

“Studies show that seventy-six percent of women in powerful positions only get more aggressive over time.” Reid continues to talk, sharing statistics from the encyclopedia he calls a brain.

Kurt needs to cut the man off before he really gets going. “Thanks Reid,” Kurt says with a half-smile. He wiggles his fingers in the man’s direction and flashes Morgan, then Prentiss, a raised eyebrow.  

He takes the four steps up to the second level of the room, hand wrapped around the metal banister, and heads towards the meeting room. He passes the open door of his own office, sees the stack of unread folders sitting on his desk, and thinks _, I could just go in there and get some of the backlog done. Let Hotchner handle the DA._ Kurt’s not one to lie to himself. The idea is very appealing. The amount of old case files, new case files, and current ones that Kurt has to work through are staggering. The BAU team spent five weeks without a media liaison after the infamous Jennifer Jareau left, and while Hotchner and Garcia did their best to keep on top of things, handling the case files and media connections is a full-time job. It’s a testament to Agent Jareau’s performance that things weren’t worse off when Kurt stepped in.

 _No. Tim Jenkins was my case, too and I need to be in there._ Taking a fortifying breath he hopes he doesn’t need, Kurt steels himself before knocking firmly on the closed door. Instead of waiting for an invitation, he twists the handle and eases the door open. “Sorry I’m late,” he says, eyes going to Hotchner’s dipped eyebrows.  A frown pulls at his lips, and he looks over to Agent Rossi, who’s sitting in the chair beside him. “My previous meeting ran a little over.”

Surprise, then humor as he realizes what Kurt’s doing, perks at the corners of Rossi’s mouth, tucking away behind his Van Dyke beard. While Rossi and Kurt don’t always see eye-to-eye on things, especially the value they each place on relationships, the man is smart and fun to be around. _At least he can laugh,_ Kurt thinks, glancing at Agent Hotchner.   

A war brews in Hotchner’s eyes, they narrow in Kurt’s direction, and Kurt knows that man is torn between welcoming him into the meeting or telling him to get lost. From the way his cheek ticks to the left, Kurt knows what his boss is going to say before he says it. “It’s alright, we went ahead and got started without you.”

Kurt steps beyond the frame, and he lets his attention drift to the woman in the room. A beautifully tailored Anne Klein suits clings artfully to the toned back of the DA. The dark gray of the suit pairs perfectly with the dark hair pulled into a bun at the back of her neck. She’s so professional looking from behind that Kurt doesn’t recognize her until she turns. Hotchner rises, and says, “Ms. Lopez, this is our new media liaison, Kurt Hummel. Agent Hummel, this is District Attorney, Santana Lopez.”

 _Santana._ Her name echoes with shock across Kurt’s brain. It’s been years since he’s seen her, at least since Tina’s wedding, but she’s recognizably the same. Her beauty has only grown since then; thirty suits her well. From the smooth stretch of her tanned skin, to the artful application of her makeup, she’s just as striking and forceful as she was when they used to sing together in school.  

Seeing her brings up so many memories, mostly good, crazy memories, that he can’t help but grin. _I’m sure I look like a fool._ He thinks of the time she brought him back to McKinley, her devious plan to win prom queen. He thinks of her and Dave, their pretend relationship that lasted almost a year and a half. He remembers the power of her voice and way her attitude rivaled his own. The image of her doing a body shot off Brittany in Rachel Berry’s basement flashes to the forefront of his mind, and his grin widens.

“Santana,” Kurt greets, sounding like a child who was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. His surprise is mirrored on her face. She looks like she’s seen Cary Grant. Hands pressed against the arms of the chair, Santana rises, a grin tugging on her mouth.  Before he can stop himself, words tumble from Kurt’s mouth. “So I hear you’re a scary bitch.”

That stops her short, and a laugh bubbles from her chest. “It takes one to know one,” she snaps back, fierce humor etched across her face. She doesn’t follow the quip with a snap of her fingers, like she used to do in high school. The sassy Latina hand motions were lost somewhere when her professional life started, but Kurt can still see the shadow of its meaning in the arch of her lips and tilt of her head. Arms stretched out, Kurt steps into her embrace before she can leave the confines of the chair and table.

“You look fantastic,” Kurt says into her ear.

She pulls back, smile on her face. “You too.” She steps back, putting a few inches between them, and says, “God Kurt, I heard you joined the FBI, but it didn’t occur to me that you would throw your lot in with these guys.” She motions to Hotch and Rossi.

Rossi raises his eyebrows and waves at the two of them. “So I’m assuming you know each other?”  

“We went to high school together,” Kurt says.

Santana looks at the other two men in the room. “Not only that, but I dated his husband. I’m Dave’s, what,” she glances at Kurt, mischief in her grin, “second longest relationship?”  

“Oh please, you were each other’s beards.”

She pouts, and Kurt reads, _As if that matters_ , in her expression.

 _Oh darling, don’t throw down with me._ Kurt smiles. He looks at Hotchner and Rossi, doubts that they care about any of this, but says anyway, “I seem to recall making out with your first girlfriend.”

Santana gives a laughing huff. “Brittany made out with everyone. And please, you were straight for like a day. I dated Dave for almost two years.”

Kurt can’t argue with that, but he wants to. Before he can open his mouth though, Hotch speaks. “As glad as I am for your reunion, we’ve got a case file to review before we go to court.” He motions towards the file folders on the table, and takes his seat again.

 _You’re such a Debbie Downer,_ Kurt thinks. He glances at Santana, whose classic thinking face hasn’t changed a bit, and then at Rossi, who looks way more amused than Hotchner does at Kurt and Santana’s friendly bickering.  

“Actually,” Santana says, reaching forward to tap the papers together, “I think we’ve been through this dance enough for the day. Let’s go ahead to call it quits.” Both Rossi and Hotchner look at her with disbelief. “Hey,” she says with a smile, “now that I know you’ve got Kurt. I won’t have to work so hard on you guys. He’s a master at this kind of stuff. He’ll keep you on your toes.” She winks at Rossi. “Besides, your team is one of the most prepared groups I work with. I only used to stay so long because your old media liaison was hot.” She slips her papers back into her own folder and taps everything straight again. She grins, that infamous shark grin that Kurt’s pretty sure Puckerman learned from her, and glances at her watch. “Oh, look at that. It’s almost five.” She sweeps the room with her eyes and settles on Kurt. “It seems I have a few free hours. Who wants to hit up happy hour at one of the nearby bars?”

Kurt grins. “Let me hand out invitations.”

***

Garcia takes a sip of her Cosmo and nods eagerly as she encourages Santana to continue with her story. Reid’s looking equally as interested sitting on Santana’s right, and Rossi is listening quietly, drinking his draft beer, next to Kurt. “So wait,” Garcia says. A wisp of her blonde hair has escaped the hold of her over-sized plastic pink flower clip. The bright color is matched by her perky dress and lipstick. She brushes it away from her face with a quick flick of her hand. “You slept with Kurt’s brother, even though you’re…” she flaps her hand again, encompassing what Kurt assumes to mean lesbian.  

“Gay as a rainbow flag at Pride?” Kurt offers. Both Santana and Garcia glare at him, but Kurt just laughs them off.

“Anyway,” Santana says pointedly, capturing her crowd’s attentions again before continuing her story, “I was still in denial back then and sleeping with as many guys I could to cement my reputation.”

Reid’s eyes widen, and Kurt can see the question, _As what? Queen slut?_ on the man’s lips. And okay, Reid wouldn’t word it like that, but the meaning would be the same. Kurt jumps in before the man can speak. “And my step-brother, Finn, was top dog at McKinley High: Quarterback, point guard for the basketball team, and newly out of a relationship with the queen bee.”  

“So I offered to take his V-card, and he accepted,” Santana says with a shrug. “We did it in a motel and ate burgers afterwards.”

“Finn learned the lesson that love makes for better sex,” Kurt finishes.

Santana shakes her head and downs the half of her margarita. “I don’t know. I’ve had some pretty good one night stands.”

“What’s this we’re talking about?” Morgan asks, appearing behind the Latina’s head. The necks of two beer bottles are nestled between the fingers of one hand and a basket of nacho chips and queso dip are in the other. He sets the basket of chips in the center of the table and takes the seat beside Reid. One beer goes to the empty space at the table. The other clinks against the tabletop before him.

Garcia flashes the handsome man a grin from across the table. She leans forward, elbows braced, and says, “One night stands. Had any good ones?”

“You know it, baby girl,” Morgan flashes his thousand watt smile, and Garcia’s cheek flush pink, “though I have found that sex with someone you’re in a relationship is better.”

“Ha!” Kurt says, smacking his hand against the table.

“Oh please,” Santana says, rolling her eyes. “Like you ever had a one night stand in your life.”

“Just because I haven’t lowered myself to meaningless sex doesn’t mean that I’m not right,” Kurt defends.

“You haven’t had a one night stand?” Rossi asks, voice high with surprise.

Kurt glances at the older agent and shakes his head. “All gay men aren’t whores you know,” Kurt snaps.

“No, that’s not what I meant at all.” And despite his somewhat white-bread, rich Republican appearance, Rossi isn’t a bigot. So Kurt believes him when he says, “It’s just that I thought everyone has at least one random sexual encounter with a stranger.”

“I haven’t,” Reid says, holding up his hand as if he’s in kindergarten. When everyone looks at him, his arm drops and he looks down, coughing in discomfort.

 _Well that’s no surprise,_ Kurt thinks, then flushes, feeling guilty. It’s not that Reid’s unattractive, in fact, it’s quite the opposite. Though the man is way too waifish in Kurt’s taste- _Kurt has to be the thin one in the relationship, thank you very much_ , Reid’s definitely eye-pleasing. _Especially since I dragged him to the salon and supervised every second of that transformation._ The shorter, more styled cut suits Reid much better than the longer, waved look he sported before Kurt came into the picture. Even the ugly clothes the man chooses to wear don’t detract from his pretty face. _No,_ Kurt thinks. _Reid’s problem is that he has the self-esteem of a deflated balloon._ Kurt hasn’t talked to Reid much, hell, really any of his teammates about their pasts, but Kurt’s pretty sure that the genius experienced bullying growing up. He’s familiar enough of the aftereffects of that particular horror.  Not to mention, Kurt wouldn’t be surprised if there’s an abusive or neglectful parent somewhere in Reid’s background.

“There’s nothing wrong with only sleeping with people you care about, Reid,” Kurt says. Reid flushes, and if Kurt had been sitting next to the man he would have patted him on the shoulder.

Prentiss comes around the wooden pillar that blocks their table from the rest of the room. She wipes her hands down her pants. A half grin pulls at her mouth. “So I hear I’m missing a conversation about one night stands.”

“How in the world did you hear that?” Reid asks.

Prentiss eyes flash to Garcia. Everyone follows the look and Garcia grins and picks up her phone from the tabletop. “That magic of technology,” she says. Rossi gives a soft snort. “Texting,” Garcia says, wiggling her eyebrows.

Morgan says, “More like magic of gossip.”

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t love my gossip,” Garcia says, wiggling her eyebrows. Morgan shakes his head in denial, but he can’t hide his smile.  Prentiss picks the lone beer on the table and takes a sip. “Speaking of random hook-ups, anything naughty going down in the bathroom?”

“Just regular bathroom business,” Prentiss says, shaking her head along with her statement. She takes another swig of beer and glances from Santana to Kurt. “So we’re talking about our one night stands?”

“No,” Santana says. “We’re talking about Kurt’s lack of.”

Surprise flutters over Prentiss’s face. “You haven’t had a one night stand?”

Kurt throws up his hands. “Why is everyone so surprised with that? You’re profilers for goodness sake! You should be able to profile my sleeping habits with my personality.”

“Actually,” Reid says, holding up two curled fingers, “statistically, most gay men have approximately five sexual partners by the time they turn thirty. The statistics rise for men who’ve lived most of their adult lives in a metropolis like New York. So, profile-wise, you would be an anomaly.”

“Well amen for that,” Kurt says.

“And I will give you kudos on the two men you have done the nasty with. Both were studs.” Santana grin resembles a shark.

“You’ve only been with two people?” Morgan asks.

“What is this?” Kurt asks, mood abruptly tilting from good humored to annoyed. “Pick on Kurt night?”

“Oh sweetpea, don’t take it like that,” Garcia says. “It’s a compliment. He just means it’s surprising that such a talented, handsome man such as yourself hasn’t had men throwing themselves at you.”

From the way Morgan’s eyebrows rise until his forehead creases, Kurt doubts that’s what the man meant, but he appreciates Garcia’s effort. Kurt brushes his bangs away from his forehead and huffs. “It’s a good thing that I have a forgiving nature.” Santana snorts into her glass, but Kurt doesn’t let her say anything. He tucks one arm against his body and sets his other elbow against the tabletop. “Besides, it’s not quantity that matters, it’s quality,” he smirks at Santana, “and believe me, Dave is Gucci.”

“I’m what? Why am I designer clothes?”

Kurt turns. “Hey!” He rises from his chair, pressing his lips to his husband’s in a quick greeting. “Because you look amazing and are worth every penny,” Kurt says with grin. Dave huffs, amused. Dave’s fingers brush along the nape of his neck, and Kurt’s buzzed enough that the slight touch sends shiver down his back. It’s only good manners that keep Kurt from dragging Dave down for a deeper kiss. “I thought you had to work until six.”

Dave smiles. “Carson came in earlier to take the last half an hour of my shift.” His eyes scan across the table and settle on Santana. She’s wearing a shit-eating grin. “Tana!” Dave rounds the table and scoops her into a hug before she’s finished rising.

When he lets her go, she says, “Damn, no wonder Kurt thinks you’re quality, you look fine boy!”  
He laughs, face lighting up. Kurt can’t help but smile in return. There are some days he really can’t believe how much Dave’s changed from that young, scared boy he was in high school. _Sometimes I can’t believe how much I’ve changed. It’s amazing what college, New York, and career choices can do to shape you._

“Derek Morgan, right?” Dave’s question snaps Kurt from his musings. His husband is holding out his hand to Morgan who nods and takes the hand. Kurt almost scoffs, because, really, Dave knows damn well who Morgan is. “We met when I picked up Kurt from the airport. You guys were standing together.” It’s said in a friendly enough manner that the hint of jealousy wouldn’t be noticeable to anyone but Kurt. Or psychological profilers. Or someone who’s known Dave for years.

 _Great._ Kurt rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. Dave is obviously trying to be civil and not tell Morgan off for being attractive. _As if he can help that._ “Alright,” Kurt says, bringing attention to himself. “Introductions necessary.” He motions Dave over, and Dave comes to his side. “This is Dave, my wonderful husband.” Dave gives a short wave. “Dave, this is my team, minus Santana, of course.” Dave nods and Santana blows them a kiss. “From left to right, Emily Prentiss, agent extraordinaire, you know Morgan,” he points to Reid, “Spencer Reid, our talented genius and magician.”  Reid smiles, obviously happy that Kurt mentioned his often ignored magic skills. Kurt skips over Santana and motions to Garcia, “The lovely and wonderful Penelope Garcia, technology wizard.” She gives a little half curtsy, still sitting. “And last but not least, the famous David Rossi.”

Dave’s mouth pulls up in a half grin. “I’ve read your books. Some of them a few times actually,” Dave says sheepishly. He holds out his hand for Rossi to shake. “I’ve used a few of your techniques when negotiating.”

“Are you in law enforcement?”

“Yeah.” Dave scratches his hand then settles it on Kurt’s back. “I worked four years on the Narc Unit for NYPD then got hired on as a Sergeant in Homicide when we decided to move here.”

 _When you let me take this job without complaint and gave up your partners and friends._ Kurt’s hand finds Dave’s and he weaves their fingers together. “Grab a chair.” Dave doesn’t even have to let go when he reaches out to the table behind them, asks for one of the empty chairs, and drags it over.

“You guys are adorable. You obviously care about each other,” Garcia says when Dave settles down. “How long have your been married?”

“Three years this September,” Dave answers.

“Congratulations,” Rossi says. “You’re over the beginning hump years.” He raises his glass in a short salute. “I only made it past that stage once, with my first wife. And we already hated each other by then.”

“Well that’s pleasant,” Kurt says. “I’ll take it anyway because we’ve worked hard to get here.”

The table is quiet for a moment, then Santana breaks the silence by saying, “And amen for gay rights and the ability to get married in all fifty states.” She raises her glass and holds it there.

“I’ll drink to that,” Garcia chirps. She holds up her drink and everyone else soon follows. Their glasses clink together as they toast.

Dave’s palm is warm and comforting against Kurt’s. His teammates are smiling at him. Kurt can’t help but laugh as Reid throws in a fact about the evolution of gay rights. He looks around the table, at Santana and Morgan and Rossi and everyone else, and feels that he made the right choice in coming to Washington, in taking this job.

Kurt tries to ignore the fact that Hotchner isn’t here. He isn’t celebrating with his team, with Kurt. _Five out of six isn’t bad,_ Kurt thinks. It’s better statistics than he’s had in the past. Still, six out of six would be better.

 

 

 **Part 2 **

 

 _November 1_

 

 _I gave him flowers today. He was coming back from a five day case across the country. He rescued two little boys. I thought he deserved something bright and beautiful. The cost of the bouquet was worth the happy crinkle in his eyes._

 _I wished I could have kissed him then, but I knew he wouldn’t accept my advances. He’s married, and he would never cheat. I admire that about him. I have to show him that big oaf isn’t what he needs. I’m what he needs._

 _He’s so unlike the rest of the scum that walk this earth. He’s a bright light among the demons that plague humanity. I just have to show him how much I care, how I adore him. He’ll see how wonderful I am, how we’d shine together. He’ll leave his husband and come to me. We’ll walk together in love._

 _I look forward to our life together._

 

 

Kurt steps inside the Quantico building, ready bag slung over his shoulder, heavy with a week’s worth of dirty clothes and case files. The extra money he spent on the padded strap doesn’t seem worth it, nor does the three hundred bucks- originally six hundred, he’s a master of shopping after all- he shelled out for his Prada shoes. His shoulder aches from carrying his bag from the airport, through the subway, to the FBI building, and his feet are still swollen from the five hour flight from San Diego. _They’re the freakin’ government. You’d think they could afford some wheels for their agents._

It’s not really a fair thought. The BAU team usually has vehicles for their use, whether they were coming or going from the airport. Kurt just happened to be the only one who was needed back at headquarters to work instead of heading straight home. He offered to save the bureau the expense and walk, thinking the air would do him good. It’s just one subway stop and a couple of blocks from the bureau's airport to the Quantico building, after all.   _I’m never doing that again._

Weariness weighs down his whole being. Even the smell of morning coffee hanging in air isn’t enough to unwind his muscles or lift his spirits. It only reminds him that he’s only eaten a bagel and an apple in the past eight hours. Plane food, even the nice plane food that their private jet stocks, doesn’t appeal to Kurt’s stomach. Flying doesn’t really appeal to Kurt’s stomach. _I need to go brief with Agent Strauss, sign off on the team’s paperwork, then get the hell out here._

He walks past the receptionist desk, glancing down to make sure his badge is noticeable. The six rotating receptionists know who he is, but it’s policy to have badges visible at all times. _Plus,_ Kurt thinks, _you never know when there might be a temp._ His eyes flicker to the chest high semi-circle desk to see who’s on duty. It’s his three favorite ladies. Anita’s fingers are speeding over her keyboard. She’s stationed on the far right- the spot closest to the round, rotating entrance of the Quantico office. Like always, her curly black hair is pulled into a tight ponytail high on her head. She’s the youngest of the staff secretaries, and the most serious. _She and Hotch should get together and talk about world hunger._

The newly wed Kelly McPherson is her normal perky self, sitting in the middle. She smiles at Kurt as he passes by, giving a little wave. One of the corded building phones is tucked under her ear, held in place by her shoulder. Kurt tries to send a smile her way, but he’s so drained that he’s not sure if he succeeds.

It’s the last receptionist who calls out. “Kurt!” she says loudly, Tennessee twang evident in the short syllable of his name. She motions for him to come over.  Looking longingly at the silver doors of the elevator, Kurt changes direction and heads towards the gray-haired woman. Her glasses are perched on the top her head. They match the woman’s plum sweater, and the thick wool makes Kurt want to hide his gaze in horror.

 _No one looks good in that particular criss-cross pattern_.

“Martha,” Kurt says in greeting. She loves chatting with him, loves chatting in general, but Kurt’s not up for a twenty minute conversation about the latest episode of Extreme Home Makeover. “It’s great to see you.” Kurt pulls out every ounce of diplomacy he’s learned over the years, faking a sincerity he doesn’t feel. “And I’d love to catch up, but Strauss has been calling me for the last five minutes asking where I was.”

Sympathy spreads across her face. “Oh, you poor thing,” she says. “That woman has no sense of decency, calling you in after such a long, horrific case.” Wrinkles pucker above her thin nose. “We all heard about that man, raping and killing those boys.” She places her hands against black marble countertop. “I was so glad to hear you had caught him.”

“Me too,” Kurt says. The image of Prentiss stumbling from the kicked-in front door screaming for the medics flashes into his mind. The scene plays out like a horror movie. Morgan stepping from the shadows of the house, six year old Avery Martin curled in his arms. The little boy’s hair was matted with eight year old Ryan Peterson’s blood. The whole world was quiet for a never-ending moment as Kurt drowned in the little boy’s terrified eyes. Then Hotchner stepped into the light, holding Ryan’s limp body. The boy’s shirt- the only piece of clothing he had on- was sticky with blood. Avery caught sight of the other boy and began to scream. The medics rushed in and the world exploded with sound.

It only took moments before the first reporter arrived. Kurt had to suck in air, push his feelings aside, and do what he was hired to do: calm the media, sooth the parents, console the families, and keep everything under control. Kurt already knows he’s going to have nightmares about those boys for the rest of his life. _At least they both survived._ Ryan had been moved from the ICU by the time the BAU team had landed in Washington.

Martha knocks him from his thoughts when she says, “Hopefully these will cheer you up.” She rolls her chair back and leans down, picking something up off the floor.

“Oh,” Kurt gasped as the tips of the flowers come into view. He reaches for the tall square vase before she’s even raised them over the counter. “They’re beautiful.” He leans in first to smell the lilies then to run his fingers across the soft petals. “Who sent them?” There’s no card, but orange and yellow lilies are Kurt’s favorite. They were his mother’s favorite. The colors are so vibrant, and the smell of the flowers always reminds Kurt of fresh rain and springtime. He has a photograph he and Dave took of a field of them in his office. “Dave is so sweet,” Kurt says, mostly to himself. He brings his nose close and takes a deep breath.

The receptionist smiles taking in Kurt’s enthusiasm.  Kurt returns the grin and says, “Thank you, Martha. You’ve made my day.” He squeezes her hand and takes a step back, holding the vase tight. “I’m sorry I can’t stay and chat, but I’ll visit later and we’ll talk Brad and Angelina.” He waves a short goodbye and heads for the elevator.

The doors chime shut, leaving Kurt alone in static silence on his way up to the eighth floor and Strauss’ office. Kurt would rather spend the day telling jokes with a brick-faced Hotchner than spend the morning locked in Strauss’s office. _She has that woman-in-charge syndrome Reid talked about._ Stern, mirco-manager, power hungry, and demanding are all words that come to mind when Kurt thinks about the section chief.

The hallway to her office is empty; it’s early and people are still settling into their days. Kurt’s fine with the alone time. It allows him to gather his thoughts and organize what he’s going to say when he defends the team’s decision to ignore the San Diego PD Chief’s directions not to go to the house before police back-up arrived. A petal brushes Kurt’s cheek as he reaches forward to knock on the door of Strauss’s office. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

Strauss snaps, “Come in.”

The image of Dave’s face settles in his mind and eases his chest as the scent of the flowers teases his nose. He straightens his shoulders and twists the door handle. _Maybe she’ll appreciate me bringing some color into her office._ Kurt smiles and heads inside.

 

***

 

“Dave,” Kurt calls out, front door clicking shut behind him. “I’m home.”

The sound of socked feet padding across the hardwood floors meets Kurt’s ears before his husband appears from the kitchen. The scent of popcorn hangs in the air and Kurt figures Dave’s about to settle in for a movie before bed. The broad shouldered man leans against the frame that separates kitchen from foyer and living room. A smile quirks the sides of his mouth. “Hey.”

Kurt slips out of his jacket and hangs it on the coat post. “Hey?” he says, lifting his eyebrow. He stalks forward and twists his fingers in the extra cotton of Dave’s Buckeye t-shirt. “That’s all I get for being gone five days?” He pulls his husband forward and brings him forward for a kiss.

When they part, Dave says, “Well, you did leave me here alone for all that time.”

Kurt sighs. “Dave, we talked about this. We knew I’d be traveling a lot when I took this job.”

“I know.” Dave runs a hand through his hair. His golden band disappears under his slightly curled locks. As the V of his hairline slowly recedes, the man lets his hair grow longer.  “I just missed you.” He pulls Kurt in for another kiss, more comfort than passion.

“And your football team lost and you had no one to distract you from the defeat,” Kurt adds. He wraps his arms around his lover’s torso and rests his head against the man’s firm chest.

The muscles beneath Kurt shift as Dave ruefully says, “Yeah.” The microwave chooses that moment to send out a wailing beep.

Kurt lifts his head. “Microwave popcorn, really?”  Dave shrugs then kisses Kurt’s forehead. He slips from their embrace and goes to get the door before the microwave chirps again. “I bought the popcorn maker for a reason you know.”

Dave shakes the bag. Steam puffs out when he pulls it open. He takes a handful and offers the bag to Kurt. With a half-grin, Kurt gives in. The fingers of Dave’s free hand find their way to the back of Kurt’s neck. Firm pressure massages out some of Kurt’s tension. “Bad, huh?”

Kurt takes another scoop of the buttery treat and nods. When his mouth is clear he says, “Well, in the six hours I spent fielding the press at the end of the case, Hotchner called me eight times to make sure I was doing everything right. Then on the way home he barely spoke to me. No, ‘thanks for setting up the therapists and social workers’ or even a simple ‘good job,’” Kurt shakes his head, trying to stop down the building anger towards his boss. “But I can deal with that. I’ve dealt with people not liking me my whole life.  The case though…” He closes his eyes and is haunted by the two little boys. His eyes flutter open. Dave is a welcomed sight. “It was bad.”

The fingers on his skin press harder. Dave guides him to the couch in the living room. “Want to talk about it?”

“Do I want to talk about how I had to tell the parents of a seven year old boy that their son wasn’t one of the ones we saved? That he was already dead, lying in a pool of his own blood in a bedroom of a broken down house?” He lays his head on Dave’s chest, words dying in his throat. Kurt lets the rhythmic motion of Dave’s breathing bring him peace. “But we saved two boys. Avery Martin and Ryan Peterson. I have to focus on that.” That’s the advice that Rossi gave him on the plane ride home. Focus on the positive.  

 _It’s good to know at least someone in charge has my back._ Rossi may not have same level of influence as Hotchner or Strauss, but he’s up there in the chain of command. The older man had taken the seat next to Kurt on the plane, patted his arm, and began to share stories of his own rough times in the bureau.  

Dave shifts beneath Kurt’s cheek, drawing his attention back to the present. “It may be horrific work, but the BAU team is the best functioning law enforcement team I’ve ever seen.”

Dave tugs playfully on Kurt’s hair. “Better than me?”

Kurt twists and looks at his husband’s quirked lips. “I said team.”

“Oh, nice save.” Dave dips forward and presses their mouths together. The tips of his fingers drag along Kurt’s arm. They stop to fiddle at the cuff of his shirt.  “How about I distract you for a while?” He nibbles at the spot behind Kurt’s ear. A shudder wracks Kurt’s body.

Kurt leans back and smiles. He reaches for the remote. The TV flips off with a press of a button. “I think I’d be up for that.” The lovely bouquet of flowers pops into his head. “And thank you for the flowers. They were just what I needed after such a long case. I put them in my office.” Kurt presses another kiss to Dave’s lips.

“I didn’t send you any flowers.” Confusion is written across Dave’s face.

“You didn’t?” Kurt asks. “Oh, well someone did. I thought they were from you. There wasn’t any card, but they were my favorites.”

Dave rubs his thumb across Kurt’s neck. “Sorry, babe, I wish they were from me.” He shrugs. “Maybe one of the parents from your case sent them to you.”

“Maybe.” Kurt wonders how they would have known his favorite flowers, but the flowers quickly fade from mind because Dave’s hands have settled on his hips. “Oh,” Kurt whispers as Dave’s mouth finds the skin below his ear. Head arched back for better access, Kurt’s mind goes hazy with pleasure.  Dave’s large hands cup his ass, and he drags Kurt into his lap. Kurt braces his hands on either side of Dave’s head. “I knew there was a reason I married you.”

“Great Distractor?” Dave says, voicing the name like a title.

“Great Distractor.” Kurt agrees. Dave’s laugh vibrates all the way to his legs. Their lips meet again. The laugh dies as Dave gets to work claiming his name.

 

***

 

 _November 30_

 

 _Kurt’s back. I commend him for valuing his father, but every moment I don’t see his smile or hear his voice is torture. Each day is it harder and harder to be separated from my beloved. I left a token of my love on his desk, wrapped in glittering paper that shines like his soul._

 

 _Soon we will be together and the world will be a better place for our union._

“Back from Lima, Ohio, the town of narrow minds and show choirs?” Rossi teases, repeating back Kurt’s earlier description of his hometown. It tears Kurt from his case file.

“Flew in this morning,” Kurt says with a half-grin, swallowing down a yawn. He sets down his paperwork, careful not to jar any of the piles on his desk. “Dave and I decided to stay another night, so we took an early flight back.”

Rossi nods, like the information is nothing unexpected. “And you came straight here and got to work.” He takes a step inside and takes the empty chair on the other side of Kurt’s desk. “That’s dedication.”

Kurt shrugs. “There’s lots of work to be done. People to save. Bad guys to catch.” Kurt looks at the three stacks of paper on his desk, all files sent from police departments around the U.S. asking for help, and thinks about the more he’s sure that are on their way. “Those bad guys,” Kurt jokes, “they’re determined folks. Love causing havoc and terror.” He snorts, even though the humor falls terribly flat.

A sad little grin pulls at the corner of Rossi’s mouth. _Psychoanalyzing me, no doubt._  His shoulders shift, and Kurt’s sure he’s about to get a lecture about working too hard and letting this job fray his edges. But Rossi surprises him, picking up the snow globe on his desk and turning it upside down. White flakes swirl through the water clouding the miniature replica of New York City.

“You don’t strike me as a kitschy item collector.”  

“I’m not,” Kurt says. He holds out his hand and Rossi hands over the globe. Kurt gives it a shake then sets it down on his desk to watch it snow. “It was a present. Found it on my desk this morning actually. Gold wrapping paper and everything.”

“Got a fan?” Rossi asks. “J.J. didn’t get too many gifts, and she was a pretty blonde.”

“I’m a pretty brunette,” Kurt quips back. He’s running off a few hours of sleep. Thanksgiving with his parents, and Finn and his kids is fun but exhausting. There are only so many times he can braid Jenny’s hair before his fingers hurt. Dave’s better with Carlton. The four year old has an undying interest in football that Finn, Dave, and Burt are happy to indulge. So while the guys spend a good portion of the holiday tossing a ball around, Kurt and his niece discussed Barbie fashions and different hair styles.

Diving back into work after family time leaves him feeling raw inside. _There’s nothing like reading about murderers and psychopaths hours after kissing my niece and nephew goodbye._ He’s not in the mood for chit-chat or the run-around Rossi’s giving him. Kurt just wants a straight conversation. _A decent cup of coffee wouldn’t hurt either_. Kurt looks at the paper cup from the lobby vending machine. All of the low-fat hazelnut creamer in the world can’t make that coffee taste good. “And at least someone appreciates my work.” He folds his arms and presses his back against his chair. “Even if they choose to remain anonymous.”  

Rossi nods, mouth suddenly drawn tight, and cuts to the chase. “You’re doing a good job, Kurt. Don’t think Aaron’s stoic absence of praise make you think any different.”

A lump presses against the base of Kurt’s throat. It feels more like anger than hurt. “David, I’m not an idiot. I understand that Hotch isn’t Mr. Congeniality on the best of days, and I know he’s been through a lot in the past few years. I watch the news, and I make it a point to try to know important events in my coworkers lives.” Kurt pauses to suck in a breath. “I can’t imagine how hard it is to have your wife,” Kurt pauses then corrects himself, “ex-wife, murdered by a psychopath bent on torturing you.” Kurt shakes his head, because the thought of Dave being killed causes his heart to squeeze painfully. “But Rossi, he doesn’t even try. He acts like I’m a child trying to play with the big boys and I can’t do my job. He’s pissed that J.J. was forced to leave and hates me for taking her place.”

“Hate is bit dramatic,” Rossi says lightly, obviously trying to ease Kurt’s anger.

Kurt throws his hands up. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Words aren’t the issue here. The issue is that my team leader doesn’t want to give me a chance. He’s determined that I’m going to screw up.” Kurt fingers curl into fists. “I’ve been here almost four months. I haven’t screwed up yet, and I don’t plan to in the future. I may be only thirty, but I’m damn good at my job.”

Rossi is quiet for a moment. His fingers are locked together in his lap. Just when Kurt’s beginning to think that the man is waiting for him to keep talking, he leans forward and says, “You’re right.” The admission from the senior agent knocks the wind from Kurt’s sails. His chest deflates and Kurt tucks his fingers under his arms. “I’m going to talk to him.”

Kurt looks at the Rossi, mouth parted. “You’d do that for me?” Then as an afterthought, adds, “I’m not sure I want you to fight my battles.” Kurt’s never been one to make others handle his issues. He’s always been the one to stick up for himself and his friends.

“I think,” Rossi says slowly, as if he’s searching for the right words, “that the conversation about his behavior would come better from me. Hotch is a good leader, a good man. He just gets tunnel vision sometimes, and like you said, he’s been through some rough patches lately. I think he takes J.J.’s departure as a personal failure on his part. He’s displacing his feelings of disappointment and anger on you.”

 _You don’t need a degree in psychology to see that,_ Kurt thinks. He sits back and runs his fingers through his hair. “I’d appreciate anything you can do to help. It will benefit everyone if we can work together.”

Rossi nods and stands. He walks towards the door and pauses, hand against the frame. “Kurt, you are doing a good job,” he says again.

“Thanks,” Kurt says with a half-smile. The agent gives another bob of his head and turns to leave. “Rossi,” Kurt says, stopping the man. “Thank you.”

Rossi smiles. “No problem, kiddo. We need more people like you around.”

“Gay and fabulous?”

“Smart, dedicated, and loyal. And don’t sweat this thing with Hotch. He’ll come around. You and  J.J are too much alike for Hotch not to love you.” Rossi doesn’t wait for a response. He taps the door with his palm and leaves Kurt alone in his office.

Kurt takes a deep breath. His exhale echoes across the small room. His paperwork hasn’t moved, and the piles seem bigger than they had five minutes ago. Sighing, Kurt leans forward and grabs his empty coffee cup. _I need a break._ His knees complain and his back makes it known that he’s been sitting too long. _No,_ Kurt corrects himself, _I need a shopping trip._

  
 ** Part 3 **

  
_D_ _ecember 4_

 

 _The world seems to be decorated in shades of red and green. Even the office holds bows of holly and wreathes above the elevator doors. I overheard Kurt talking about sprucing up his own office. I sent him a small Christmas tree to place inside. The last time I went by his door I saw my gift lit up in white lights. It looked beautiful._

 _I spent the weekend arranging all the decorations at my own house. I bought new garland for the tree and fireplace, and I hung the stocking I made for Kurt next to my own._

 

 

As Kurt leaves Nordstrom’s, he catches sight of Dave sitting on a metal bench in front of the one of the mall’s fountains. Kurt’s shopping bags are at his husband’s feet, and Dave is on the phone. It’s a weekday, so the mall isn’t too crowded, which he’s sure Dave appreciates.

Dave holds up finger when Kurt sits down beside him, motioning that he’s almost finished. “Thank you, sir,” Dave says, smiling. Kurt’s sets his new boots with his other bags and rolls his shoulders back, trying to ease out the ache from holding his bag too long. “I can’t wait. Thank you.”

Curiosity peaks Kurt’s interest and he mouths, “Who are you talking to?”

Dave ignores Kurt’s question and says, “Okay. That sounds great. I’ll be there by five.”

The second Dave ends the call Kurt asks, “What was that?”

Dave chuckles and straightens his shoulders, pressing his back against the bench. “That,” he says, voice light with happiness, “was Captain Reynolds.”

“NYPD Captain Reynolds?” Captain Marshall Reynolds is their old police chief. Both Dave and Kurt love the man and his no bullshit attitude.

“Yeah,” Dave says with a nod. “You will never guess what he’s invited me to do.”  He grins at Kurt and shakes his head. “He asked me to come and give a speech at the LEFTA banquet in New York.”

Kurt’s mouth parts in surprise. “Really? Dave, that’s amazing!” Kurt leans forward and gives his husband a hug. Pulling back, he presses a quick kiss to Dave’s mouth. “You’ll knock their socks off.”

Dave laughs. “I don’t know about that. You’re the smooth talker, not me.” He rubs the back his neck and flashes Kurt a half-smile.

“Stop it,” Kurt says. He grabs Dave’s hand. “The members of Law Enforcement For Tolerance and Acceptance will be lucky to have you. Besides, you helped get the New York chapter off its feet. They’ll love seeing you again.”

“And you’ll help me figure out what to say,” Dave states.

“Of course,” Kurt says with a smile.

“And you’ll be there right?”

Kurt slips his phone from his pocket. “When’s the date? I’ll put it in my calendar right now.”

“Two weeks, right before Christmas. December 17. Dinner starts at six thirty, but Reynolds wants me there by five.”   

“It’s done.” Kurt leans forward and steals another kiss. “I love you.”

“Of course you do,” Dave teases.

“Oh, shut up.” Kurt reaches forward and loops his fingers through the handles of his bags. “Let’s go home and I’ll cook you a celebratory steak.”

Dave follows Kurt to his feet and slips his arm around Kurt’s back. He takes the bags from Kurt’s hands then kisses the side of Kurt’s head. “And we can have another sort of celebration afterwards.”

“Only if you’re good.”

“Oh, baby, you know I’m always good,” Dave whispers.

Kurt laughs at the cheesy line, but a shiver of arousal coils up his spine. Dave always delivers. “If you’re that good we might have to skip the steak.”

“I’m okay with that,” Dave says, his breath ghosting across Kurt’s ear.

Kurt picks up his pace. Shopping and a night of sex with Dave? The best cure to his stressful day.

 

***

 

The Eaton City Sheriff’s Department is a single floor building with eight rooms, one of which is a multi-sex bathroom. The only female on staff is the plump secretary who gave Kurt a once over, squinting at his gray jacket and burnt orange dress shirt, then told Kurt to call her Dottie.

“Your boys aren’t being very helpful,” Kurt tells Bob Gertin, the sheriff of this little police station. Reid is attempting to talk to the deputy sheriff, but Kurt can see the officer doodling little stick figures on his notepad. Reid’s cheeks are red with frustration. He’s been trying to get details of the case and the surrounding area to build a geographical profile for the last thirty minutes.

The sheriff loops his fingers through his belt and says, “My boys don’t need some fancy FBI agents telling them how to do their job. I told you we can handle this case just fine.”

Gertin moves into Kurt’s personal space, almost smacking Kurt with his hat, but Kurt doesn’t back down. He doesn’t go for polite either. Polite won’t get him what he wants, what his team needs. “There are five dead women and one missing. I’d say your boys are crying for help.”

Red colors the man’s pale cheeks and he sputters, “They’d figure it out.”

“Maybe, but how many more women need to be killed to save your pride?” Kurt crosses his arms and takes a step towards the man. His forearms brush close to the the sheriff’s chest as he says, “Tell your men to cooperate or I’ll make it rain hellfire on your department and your men will be begging for an escape.”

Gertin whistles. His breath smells like citrus and tobacco. It takes all of Kurt’s concentration not to wrinkle his nose. “You have balls for a fairy,” Gertin says with a snort.

Kurt wants to punch the man in the face and break his perfect teeth. “I also have the phone numbers of Governor Taft and Senators McClain and Rosen in my phone.” Kurt leaves the rest of the threat unsaid.

Gertin’s eyebrows narrow, then he turns towards his deputy and growls, “Ken, get off your lazy ass and get these agents to the crime scene.” The man jumps up, knocking his notebook to the floor. Reid bends down to pick it up. “Nicky,” Gertin shouts and a young uniformed cop sticks his head from one of the offices and looks towards his chief, “where are the files Agent Hummel requested?”

Nicky blinks and says, “I didn’t get them, Sir.”

“Why the hell not?” Gertin rumbles. Nicky opens his mouth, but it flops shut again after a second.

 _Smart man,_ Kurt thinks. _Not a good idea to point out your boss’s bad decisions._

“I’ll go get them now, Sir.” Nicky hustles down the short hall and disappears into the furthest room.

“Thank you, Sheriff,” Kurt says with a shark-like grin. Gertin’s nostrils flare, but he says nothing. “I appreciate your cooperation.”

The sheriff tips his hat. “It’s the least I can do to help save lives.” It sounds gracious and earnest, but Kurt knows it’s utter bullshit. Still, sometimes Kurt needs to knock down roadblocks with a battering ram. Police relations are important, but lives are more important.

“Let’s go save Dana Foder.” Kurt turns, meets Reid’s gaze, and nods his head towards the deputy sheriff, who is barking out orders on his radio.

Reid returns the nod and mouths, _Thank you._

Kurt smiles heads towards the row of coat hooks down the hall. A trip to the crime scene to meet up with the local news station is in order. It’s too cold outside not to wear his coat, even if his suit would look fabulous on camera. It’s only chance that he twists and see Hotchner standing near the room they had been given to set up their things. The man’s hands are tucked into his pants pockets and he’s staring at Kurt. Kurt can’t read the look. He wants to storm over there and demand Hotchner talk to him. Kurt wants to shout, “If you have a problem with me, address it.”

Instead, Kurt turns his back on the man and slips on his coat. Reid is waiting by the front door, hands already in gloves.  Kurt flips up his collar, tightens his scarf, and strides outside. He doesn’t look back.

 

***

 

The bullpen is quiet. Reid, Rossi and Morgan are holding a workshop on psychological profiling for the Dorchester Country Sheriff’s Department in Maryland. They left early this morning and will be gone until tomorrow afternoon. Prentiss is on vacation for the next ten days. She flew England to meet her mother, who in Prentiss’s own words, is, “there to manipulate the UN Ambassadors into doing what she wants.” Garcia is still down the hall in her office, doing who knows what with her computer. Kurt can watch her work, but he doesn’t understand half the things her fingers can do with a keyboard.

Kurt’s hands are jittery. It’s eleven o’clock and he’s on his third cup of coffee. The quiet is grating at his nerves. He sends a longing look towards his iPod dock sitting at the corner of his desk. It’s half-hidden by a stack of purple file folders. Normally, he’d just put his headphones in, but he took them out of his bag last night and forgot to put them back inside. His eyes flicker to his open door. Across the hall he can see the corner of Hotch’s desk. _It would probably annoy the hell out of the man if I turned on some Gaga._ Kurt almost does it to be vindictive, but as his fingers graze the file folders he decides to take the high road and work in silence.

He makes it through one more report before he has to stop again. He stands and stretches, arms raised toward the ceiling.

“The paperwork isn’t as exciting as the field work.” Hotchner’s voice startles Kurt enough that he drops his hands, accidentally smacking his knuckles against the edge of his desk.

“No, it isn’t,” Kurt replies. He rubs the back of his injured hand and looks at Hotch. “What can I do for you?”

Hotchner’s mouth draws and he crosses his arms. “Rossi tells me I’ve been treating you unfairly.”

 _Oh,_ Kurt thinks. His gaze flickers to his desk as he gathers his thoughts, but before he can think of a response Hotch continues.

“I think he might be right.”

“Oh.” The word escapes Kurt’s lips before he can catch it. Blood rushes to his head, and suddenly, he has to sit down. Hotchner takes the seat on the other side of Kurt’s desk.

He stares at Kurt, looking every bit as uncomfortable at Kurt feels. Despite his serious demeanor Kurt can’t help but notice the bags under his eyes and the way his jaw occasionally ticks. _He’s exhausted,_ Kurt thinks.

“I know I’ve been hard on you,” Hotchner begins, “but this job is hard. We deal with the dark side of the human race. We deal with destroyed families and worlds that have been changed forever. It’s not something to take lightly, and I think you have the most difficult job of all of us.” His gaze never waves from Kurt.

“And you think that I can’t do it,” Kurt snaps. His anger resurfaces, flushing away his shock.

“No, that’s not what I think.” Hotch leans forward. His knees bump against Kurt’s desk. “I think you’ve proven yourself very capable.”

Kurt presses back in his chair and crosses his arms. “But you did think that.”

“I’m not going to lie.” Hotchner’s arms unwind and he rests his wrists against his thighs. “I didn’t hire you. Agent Strauss did. I didn’t want to replace J.J., and despite your work with the NYPD, your background and education isn’t typical for this position.”

“I have a communication minor along with my theater degree,” Kurt says in his own defense, “not to mention ten years of working with the NYPD, five of which I spent as their media liaison.”

“Some of which you spent as receptionist,” Hotchner states.

Kurt frowns. “We all start somewhere.”

This time it’s Hotchner who frowns. “This isn’t going where I planned,” he says more to himself than Kurt. He’s quiet for a moment, then Hotchner asks, “Why did you apply for this job? Why did you uproot your life to come here?”

The question takes Kurt aback. He wants to snap, “Why does it matter?” but he knows that mouthing off won’t get him anywhere. Eventually, he takes a deep breath and says, “When I was a kid the only thing I ever wanted to do was be on Broadway. I wanted to sing and act and be a star.” Kurt gives Hotch a sad smile, because there are still days he wants that. “When I moved to New York to attend NYU I thought my dreams were coming true. After my first semester, I figured out I needed a job if I wanted to buy clothes and music for practicing and tryouts. The fifth precinct happened to be hiring a nighttime receptionist.”

It’s a pleasant memory. Kurt remembers interviewing with Tasha McNeill, the office manager. She was sassy and full of spirit. They were kindred spirits. He still talks to her on a monthly basis. “It wasn’t long after I started that I met Jamie Clark.”

When Hotch nods, Kurt isn’t surprised. Jamie was the best public relations officer that ever worked with police.

“I remember the first time I saw her. At sixty-six she was so put together. She wore a perfectly tailored red pinstriped suit and a pair of sensible heels. I complimented her on her outfit. She smiled, asked me my name, and from then on whenever she needed things copied or emails sent, she came to me. She was the most amazing woman I had ever met. She convinced me to add the communication minor to my degree, said it would help me in my theater work.”

“I met Jamie several times,” Hotchner says. “She was very good at her job.”

Kurt nods. It’s an understatement. Jamie was a miracle worker. “After a year Jamie would come to me and talk over her press releases.” Kurt pauses, then adds, “I learned more from that woman than all of my classes combined. She taught me the importance of words and how much people really matter to each other, even if it seems otherwise. She made me want to make a difference in the world.” A chuckle catches in his chest as he remembers all the late nights he spent with his mentor. When she got sleep deprived Jamie would crack the dirtiest jokes. “By the time I was twenty-one I was working as Jamie’s assistant. I would travel with her, watch her make speeches, talk to officers and parents. She had a way with speaking that made people believe anything she said.”

“I was with her three years when she was diagnosed with breast cancer.” Kurt swallows. The memory is still painful, all these years later. “I had a semester left of school when I began taking over her duties. I would write speeches, teach the new police officers what to say and how to say it. Instead of looking for theater jobs after I graduated, I stayed helping her until she couldn’t come to work anymore. After she died, the Captain, Marshall Reynolds, asked me to stay and fill her position. I did, and I never looked back.”

Kurt takes a deep breath then blows out a lungful of air. He folds his fingers together and sets them on his desk. “But that doesn’t really answer your question does it?” he asks Hotchner. The man’s gaze hasn’t wavered through any of Kurt’s story. The man says nothing, so Kurt keeps talking.

“I wasn’t looking for another job. I liked living in New York. I found Dave there, learned to forgive the past, and educated a lot of people on what it means to be gay. Still, even with all of those things I felt like something was missing.” Kurt shrugs, because sometimes life is like that. “Last year I worked with Sam Cooper’s BAU team. It was exhilarating. I couldn’t believe how well they functioned. He told me that he learned everything from you and your team.”

Kurt has no doubt that the man told the truth. Hotchner and the rest of his agents work like a well-oiled machine. They know each other inside and out. Each member brings something to table that the others can’t offer, and all love what they do. “When word came down the grape vine that J.J. was moving to the Pentagon, I decided to apply.”

Hotchner still doesn’t speak. Kurt doesn’t know if that a good or bad thing. “Aaron,” Kurt says. “This work is hard. I already have nightmares and the paperwork is never ending, but I go home every day feeling as if I’m making a difference.” Kurt runs his hand through his hair, a habit from his youth he’s never lost. “No, it’s not even that I feel that I’m making a difference. It’s that I _know_ I’m making a difference. I can help you and Rossi and Reid and the rest of this very talented team stop the evil in this world. I can ease the way for you so that every case isn’t an uphill battle with other police departments. I can be the mediator between you and Strauss.” Kurt feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He refuses to cry. “I just need you to believe in me.” Kurt’s eyes flutter shut as he tries to control his emotions.

Hotch touches his hand gently. Kurt’s eyes fly open and Hotch retreats. His eyes flicker to the desk for a moment then snap back to Kurt’s face.  “I do believe in you,” Hotchner says. His voice is rough, as if his words are dragging over sandpaper. “If I didn’t in the beginning, I do now. You may be young and atypical in this field, but you have proved that you’re Jamie Clark’s protégé.”

Kurt’s breath catches in his throat. “Thank you. You don’t know how much hearing that means to me.”

“I can guess,” Hotch says. “Kurt, I want to you know that whatever issues I have, they have nothing to do with how well you can do this job. If I come across as cruel or disenchanted sometimes, it’s not a reflection of your performance.”

“Can I call you out on it?” Kurt asks before he can really think. His brain to mouth reaction time is still a work-in-progress.

“That probably wouldn’t be a bad thing. I could use someone in my life that won’t let me get away with my dark moods.”

Kurt smiles. “I can definitely do that.” The corners of Hotch’s mouth curl up. It’s not quite a smile, but Kurt suddenly feels as if he’s conquered the world. “Thank you for coming to talk to me.”

“I’m sorry I waited so long.” Hotch stands, and Kurt follows him to his feet. “I leave you to your paperwork.”

Kurt looks at the stack of purple file folders. For the first time, it doesn’t seem so high.  

 

***

“Kurt!” Martha calls out as he walks past the front desk.

 _Not now, Martha,_ Kurt thinks silently. The subway was over overcrowded this morning and he’s spilled coffee on his new tan winter gloves. The dark stain near the back of his thumb stares up mockingly at him.

“Martha,” Kurt says with a false smile. She’s wearing another of her hideous Christmas sweaters. This one is all red wool with two black strips on either side of her shoulders. A glittery pin of a reindeer head is clipped over her breast. “You’re in the spirit today.” He raises his coffee towards her pin.

She smiles. “Well Christmas is only eleven days away. Plus I like to spread the cheer.”

Kurt’s phone buzzes in his pocket. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I can’t stay and talk this morning. Hotch called me out of bed a half an hour early to come in for a case. I’m already running behind.”

She waves him off. “Oh, I completely understand. I know how you agents are.” Kurt takes a step back, but she stops him and says, “Hold on a second.” She slides a CD case across the top of the counter. “This is yours.”

Kurt takes it with his free hand. “I don’t think it’s mine. I don’t use CDs anymore.” However, when he picks it up he can see it has his name scripted across the top in black sharpie. “Hmm,” He tucks it under his arms. “Maybe it’s from one of the news crews.” Most of them don’t use CDs anymore either, but a few of the old school reports will stop in on occasion with some information for Kurt to look over. “Thank you.”

“Go catch some bad guys,” Martha says with a little pump of her fist, reminiscent of a high schooler trying to get a trucker to honk his horn.

“I’ll try.”

By the time he gets to the BAU floor everyone else is already in the meeting room. Instead of dropping his bag and coat in his office, Kurt makes a beeline for the meeting. “Sorry I’m late,” Kurt says in a rushed apology. He slips his messenger bag off his shoulder and sets it on the floor next to the empty chair. The CD case is still tucked under arm, but when he leans forward to set down his coffee the CD clatters against the tabletop.

“A mixed CD, how old school,” Morgan jokes. He reaches forward to grab the CD.

“I didn’t even know people still used those,” Garcia quips with a grin. Kurt rolls his eyes unzips his jacket before taking a seat.

“It’s from one of my news contacts,” Kurt says, trying to get them off his back.

Morgan opens up the case then lifts an eyebrow. “A contact that’s in love with you.”

“What?” Kurt says and reaches forward to snatch back the CD. He looks at the inside and sees a playlist of love songs written in sharpie down the front of the CD. There’s a folded handwritten note tucked in front of the paper case cover.

“A secret admirer,” Reid says.

Kurt shuts the CD and stuffs it the front of his bag. “I can’t help it if people find me amazing,” he jokes. It falls a little flat, because the whole thing is making him feel uncomfortable. He would have killed for secret admirer in high school. Now, he’s older, wiser, and taken. The idea of someone pining for him from afar doesn’t bring butterflies to his stomach.

Hotch stands and says, “We can talk about secret admirers later.” It’s almost a joke, and if Kurt weren’t so sleepy he’d point out Aaron’s attempt at humor. “We have a case to focus on.” He motions for Garcia to bring the case files up on the large screen against the wall.

Kurt picks up his coffee and turns his attention to Hotchner. As the pictures of four dead women appear, Kurt forgets about the CD. As Martha would say, “There’s a bad man to catch.”

 

***

 

“Dave,” Kurt says softly into his phone. “I promise, I’ll be there by the time you have to go on.”

“God damn-it, Kurt!” Dave shouts. Kurt winces and presses his back against the stucco wall. “You told me when you flew to Seattle on Wednesday you would be back in time for my speech.” Dave curses and Kurt can hear his husband shove around something plastic in the background of the phone.

“I will be,” Kurt promises. A car roars by, going faster than the thirty-five miles allotted. Damn ballsy to speed in front of a police station. “Even if I have to leave in the middle of the case I’ll be on a flight to New York by noon your time tomorrow.”

“Noon?” Dave growls. “That means you won’t get here until almost five. I’m supposed to be at the benefit by five!”

“Dave, you don’t need me to help you dress, and you’ve already got your speech. I’ll be there by five-thirty, the latest. I wouldn’t miss your big night for anything.”

Kurt can tell Dave isn’t mollified, but his husband knows how important his job is, how cases work. Dave knows that timelines can’t be predicted. “Fine.”

“Dave…” Kurt pleads. “Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad,” Dave says, which is a complete lie. “I just want you to be here to support me.”

 _Laying on the guilt,_ Kurt thinks. _It’s so working._ “I know. I will be. I promise.” He runs a thumb through his hair and sees Rossi come outside. “I have to go. I love you.”

Dave sighs. “I love you too.” The sound of the dial tone leaves a knot in Kurt’s stomach. He doesn’t like to fight with Dave. Argue? Well, arguing is a part of Kurt’s daily life, but actual fighting? Kurt likes to leave that at the door.

He slips his phone into his pocket and heads toward Rossi. The older agent eyes him then says, “Domestic trouble?”

“Yeah, but it will be alright,” Kurt says. “Dave’s rightfully upset that I’m coming late to LEFTA banquet. He’s making a speech.”

The corners of Rossi’s mouth pull into a frown. “Doing this job and having a successful relationship are hard. Believe me, I know.”

“I know,” Kurt says, guilt weighing down his chest. He’d hate to have to give up his career.

Rossi squeezes his shoulder. “But if anyone can do it, you can. I have faith in you.”

Kurt smiles. “Thank you.” Prentiss comes around the corner in one of the team’s SUVs and stops near the curb. “Let’s go make an arrest so I can get home to my husband.”

 

***

 

Kurt wakes to the sound of his phone. Groggy, he reaches out and grabs it from the hotel nightstand. “Hello?” he asks.

“Kurt? Where the hell are you? Are you okay? I’ve been calling you nonstop for the last eight hours.”

“Dave?” _Dave? What time is it._ Kurt snaps up and yanks the alarm clock towards him. The numbers 2:43 read bright and clear. “Shit,” Kurt curses aloud. “Dave, I’m so sorry. We had a hostage situation last night and didn’t get in until almost five in the morning.”

Kurt swings his legs out of bed and presses his palms to his eyes. “I must have slept right through the alarm.”

“For fuck’s sake, Kurt!” Dave shouts. “I go on in fifteen minutes and you’re across the god-damned country!”

“Dave…”

“No! You don’t get to Dave me. You promised you’d be here. You promised me that when you took this job that you wouldn’t let it come between us. Well it’s fucking between us.”

Tears burn the corners of Kurt’s eyes. “Dave please calm down.”

“I don’t want to calm down!”

“I’m getting up. I’m going to head straight to the airport and take the next flight home.” Kurt yanks on yesterday’s pants and slides open the small closet door to take out the rest of his clothes.

“It doesn’t matter. You won’t be here in time.” Kurt can hear the anger and hurt in Dave’s voice. He wishes more than anything he had the power to teleport, or turn back time.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says again, knowing it won’t do any good. He uses his words for living, talking to parents and reporters and police officers, but at the moment all his words escape him.

“I need to go,” Dave says. “I’ll talk to you later.” He hangs up the phone before Kurt can say anything else.

Kurt slumps on the bed. It’s the first time years they haven’t ended a phone conversation with, “I love you.”

 

***

 

 _December 18_

 

 _He fought with his husband today. That undeserving man came storming in to the building, demanding to see Kurt. The second my beloved exited the elevator, that giant oaf began shouting at him. Kurt took their argument outside for the sake of decency, but I could see them from the window. My poor man had his arms wrapped around his body and tears in his eyes. How I wanted to go comfort him._

 _I can see now that the time is right. Kurt has finally seen that he doesn’t belong with that man. He belongs with me._

 _Our time has come._

 

 

  
Despite the fact Kurt’s the only one left in the department, janitors excluded, and he’s four hours past his normal going home time, Kurt has barely done any work all day. He can’t concentrate. When he came home last night Dave didn’t get up to greet him, and his husband was already gone for work when Kurt got up in the morning.

After spending twenty minutes begging Dave to come meet him for lunch, they spent the whole hour fighting. Guilt weighs down Kurt’s body. Terrifying thoughts of Dave leaving cycle through his mind for the rest of the day. Kurt’s afraid to go home. Dave might not be there.

Finally, Kurt can’t take it anymore. He reaches for the phone. Dave doesn’t answer, so Kurt leaves a message. “Hey, it’s me.” He starts off stupidly. He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “I love you. Dave, I’d do anything for you, and if you want me to quit I will. You’re the most important thing in my life.” Kurt pauses then adds, “I love you, please be there when I get home.”  
He sets the phone down and wipes at his eyes. _I’m a mess._ Reid had used the rest of his tissues this afternoon, so Kurt opens his desk draws and searches for a napkin. When he looks up he almost has a heart attack.

“Martha, you startled me.” She smiles and steps into his office. “What are you doing here so late? Is everything okay?”

“I’m wonderful, though it hurts me to see you so upset.” She tugs a tissue from her pocket and hands it to him.

“Thanks.” When he moves back her hand darts out and grabs his. Sharp pain, like a bee sting, makes him flinch. “Ouch. I think your ring got me.” He pulls his hand free and brings it to his chest.

“I know, but the pain will only last a second.”

Kurt looks up confused. “Are you okay?” he asks tentatively. His hand aches and when he glances at the spot that hurts he sees a drop of blood.

Martha nods and reaches over his desk to run her fingers though Kurt’s hair. He jerks back. “Martha, I appreciate your concern, but you’re breaking some of my personal space boundaries.” Suddenly, Kurt feels hot and his vision begins to spot. He blinks and for one clear second he gets a good look at the needle in Martha’s hand. “What?” he asks.

Her hand comes towards him again, and he feels her fingers against his skin.

Then he feels nothing at all.

 

 

 **Part 4 **

 

Aaron rubs his face, trying to clear away the weariness caused by lack of sleep. After flying in from Seattle yesterday with the team, he had spent the rest of the day in Strauss’s office, conferencing with Washington State Police department. When he had finally left, close to nine last night, he went straight Haley’s parent’s house, hoping to catch Jack still awake. He had no 2 such luck.

Jack was tucked into his bed, and all Aaron could do was kiss his boy’s forehead and silently wish him good dreams. _And I couldn’t even be there when he woke this morning,_ Aaron thinks bitterly. It’s his own fault, really. Strauss has offered him a desk job - better pay, steady hours and little traveling,  but no matter how sensible it is for him to take the offer, Aaron can’t make himself say yes. His team, his ability to lead these great minds and profile these killers and save lives keeps him in place every time. However, after almost a week without seeing his child, and coming to work, running on fumes to deal with an early morning PR crisis, Aaron can’t help but fantasize about how peaceful a desk job sounds.

He steps out of the elevator and heads towards the BAU doors. Keys jangling in his pocket, Aaron slips them out and unlocks the two glass doors into the department. It’s quiet, five-thirty am doesn’t see a lot of activity inside the Quantico building. The rest of Aaron’s team is fast asleep in their beds, recovering from their last case.

 _I should call Hummel again,_ Aaron thinks. It’s really the other man’s job to work the news leaks of cases gone bad, or in this instance, accusations of a faulty profile delivered by Prentiss to the Kansas City PD. Aaron brushes his hand against his cell phone in his pocket, but he doesn’t pull it out. He had already called the media liaison after Strauss had woken him up this morning. Hummel hadn’t answered his phone though, so Aaron had left a message. _I wonder if he made up with his husband._

Aaron hopes so. He and Haley didn’t make it with the stress of this job, but Aaron holds out hope for the rest of his team. Still, after the talk he had with Kurt, Aaron thinks, _he will probably be angry if I don’t let him handle this._ Their budding acceptance of each other is fragile, and despite the early hour, if Aaron does Hummel’s job for him, the man will take it as a personal insult.

He flips on the overhead lights; they hum to life, casting a dim glow over the main room. The maintenance men have installed eco-friendly bulbs, and it takes a few minutes for them to turn on completely. Aaron takes his phone from his pocket as he heads towards his office. Hummel’s number is already first on his contact list as the last called, so all it takes is a push of the green phone icon for it to dial.

The melodic tones of wind chimes echo across the bullpen. Aaron stops and looks around. _Hummel isn’t here._ The sound of the phone continues to ring as Aaron’s phone tries to connect. He turns and walks towards Kurt’s office.  His door is closed, but the string of lights around his small Christmas tree glows through the crack under the door.

“Kurt?” Aaron asks while knocking softly on the door. Maybe the man had spent the night in his office. _The blowout with his husband was pretty severe._ It wouldn’t be the first time a man woke with a crick in his neck from sleeping slumped over his desk. When no one answers, Aaron twists the handle to open the door.

The room is empty. Kurt’s stacks of purple files folders, the ones he had defended to Strauss in a twenty minute lecture on the importance of color in the workplace, sit neatly on his desk as usual.  The chair is facing the wall, which is unusual. Kurt’s  a stickler for everything being perfectly in place. Aaron can easily recall when Reid sat in Kurt’s chair as he showed the man his magic tricks for the first time. Kurt had laughed then shuffled everything back into place as soon as Reid departed.

A knot forms in his stomach.

Aaron reaches past the door frame and flips on the light. He doesn’t see Kurt’s phone, so he calls it again. The ring seem loud in the quiet room. Aaron follows the sound around Kurt’s desk. He see the sleek black phone vibrating on the floor. It’s in his hand in seconds. _Kurt treats his phone like a beloved pet. He wouldn’t leave it here or on the floor._

He unlocks the screen with a swipe of his finger. His jaw tightens as he sees his own three missed calls, but it’s the eleven missed calls and four messages from Kurt’s husband that have him twisting on his heels and heading back into the main room. He picks up the first office phone he passes- Prentiss’s- and begins speaking the moment building security picks up. “This is Aaron Hotcher. I need the video footage of the BAU for the last twelve hours sent up immediately.” He gives his clearance code and tells the man to phone Strauss and get her here as fast as possible.  
The second he finishes that conversation, he calls Rossi.

“What’s going on?” Rossi asks sleepily when he answers.

Aaron doesn’t waste any time. “Something has happened to Kurt.”

“What?” Rossi asks, suddenly alert. Aaron can hear him shuffling around, probably sitting up in bed.  Aaron explains what he found.  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” Rossi hangs up. Aaron’s hand drops to his side.

Kurt’s phone is still in his other hand and he stares at it for a moment before taking a deep breath and turning it on again. He presses the dial button. It rings twice before, “Kurt? Where the hell are you?” Dave’s voice pounds through the speaker.

“Dave? This is Aaron Hotchner.”

“What? Why do you have Kurt’s phone?”

“Did Kurt come home last night?” Aaron asks, even though he already knows the answer.

There’s a pause, and then, “Where the hell is Kurt?” Dave’s voice is low and dangerous.

“Dave,” Aaron says, voice even, “I found Kurt’s phone on the floor of his office.  When was the last time you saw or spoke to him.”

“Yesterday afternoon. He left a message on my phone last night. Oh Jesus,” Dave gasps, “I thought he was giving me space. I should have known. Fuck, I should have known.”

“Dave,” Aaron says, “I need you to pull yourself together. Get up, call your chief and tell him what’s going on, then come to the BAU.” Jalen, the head of security stomps through the doors, Strauss hot on his heels. “We’re going to figure this out and find Kurt.”

“Fuck.” Dave curses again. “Okay,” he says shakily, “I’ll be there soon.”

The moment he’s off the phone, Strauss is in his face. “What is going on, Aaron?” she asks. There are bags under her eyes. He wonders how early she got here this morning. “Why did you request the security footage?”

Aaron doesn’t waste any time. “We need a CSI team up here,” he says. “I think Kurt’s been kidnapped.”

Strauss’s eyebrows pull together. “Why?”

He sets Kurt’s phone onto Prentiss’s desk. “I found this on his office floor.”

“You think Kurt’s been kidnapped because you found his _phone_?” she asks incredulously.

“Kurt is glued to his phone. He would never leave it carelessly on the floor,” Aaron says. “His husband hasn’t seen or heard from him since last night.”

“Aaron,” Strauss says while crossing her arms, “Agent Hummel and his husband got in a very public fight yesterday afternoon. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that he checked into a hotel to spend the night.”

“You are right,” he admits, even though every instinct is screaming otherwise.  He turns towards Jalen and nods towards the meeting room. “Set up the videos on the screen. We’ll watch the video footage and see if Kurt left voluntarily,” Aaron directs the comment towards his director. “Is that fair?” He’s going to do it whether she gives permission or not.

Jalen nods and says, “What time should I start it at?”

Aaron picks up Kurt’s phone again and scrolls through his call list. Hummel’s last call to his husband was at ten twenty-three. “Start around ten twenty.” Jalen heads towards the meeting room, flash drive in hand.

“Aaron,” Strauss says again in warning.

He twists and meets her eyes. “It will take ten minutes to watch to see if he left on his own. If he did, we’ll explore options. If he has been taken, then the sooner we begin to look for him, the better our chances will be to find him.” He doesn’t add the word alive, because he’s not ready to take that route yet.  Aaron and his team encounter too many people in their work who could be out for revenge to allow his mind to head in that direction.  It would be Hayley all over again, and he just can’t deal with that.

Strauss huffs, clearly displeased, but she follows Aaron into the meeting room anyway. Jalen already has the meeting room’s laptop open and the display screen lowered. It’s playing a scratchy picture of black and gray lines. “How long until it’s running?” Aaron asks, impatient. If Garcia were here she would have what he needs.

Jalen looks up, frown on his dark face and says, “It already is. The tapes from the last twelve hours have been wiped.”

 

***

 

Kurt wakes to a dry mouth, a pounding temple, and Bing Crosby singing _White Christmas_. He shakes his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs. It only takes a moment for him to realize that he’s sitting in a thinly cushioned rocking chair, hands handcuffed to the armrests.

 _Martha._ He remembers her needle, her drugs. The face of a dark haired man flashes in and out of Kurt’s memory. He remembers coming-to in the backseat of a mini-van for a brief moment, before haziness and sleep took over again. _Where the hell am I?_

He wants to scream, shout Martha’s name, demand that she release him, but he has enough training and sense of mind to stop himself from acting reckless. _Take note of your surroundings. Find anything that can help you._

He’s in a bedroom. The white and maroon checkered bedspread and matching flowered wallpaper might as well have Martha’s signature scripted across in flowing letters. There’s an antique dresser and mirror set opposite the bed, both have seen better days. Cracks spiderweb from the upper left hand corner, curving around side of the mirror like a cupped hand.  

A set of windows lay to Kurt’s right, a few feet away. Red curtains are drawn tightly across, but the cloth is thin enough that light shines through. _I wonder how long I’ve been out,_ Kurt thinks. He rolls his neck, trying to loosen his muscles. Just the motion leaves him nauseous. He tugs at his cuffs again then tries to wiggle his fingers through the holes. The metal cuts into his skin. _I’d have to dislocate my thumbs to get my hands through._ A shiver snakes up Kurt’s spine. _A last resort._   Footsteps snap Kurt’s attention to the door. The handle eases downwards and the door creaks open. Kurt swallows, throat burning from dry mouth, and stares.

A large man steps into the room, head down. “Who are you?” Kurt snaps, words flying from his tongue before he can stop himself.

Brown hair flops over the man’s forehead as his head jerks upwards. Surprises flashes over the man’s face. His mouth opens and closes, mimicking a fish. He blinks at Kurt for a brief second before twisting towards the door and shouting, “Momma, he’s awake!”

 

***

 

“How the hell did we not see this coming?” Prentiss says, tossing the CD case onto Morgan’s desk.

“We were too preoccupied with our own problems.” Morgan frowns and picks up the CD. It’s the same one he was teasing Kurt about just the other day. He slides the love note from the little plastic placeholders. “Is Reid done with the handwriting analysis?”

David tears his gaze from the snow globe and Christmas tree sitting on Reid’s desk. He closes his notebook, tucking his pencil between the pages to mark his place. He leans back in his chair and looks into the meeting room where Garcia had set Reid up with a projection of the letter against a whiteboard. He can see the thin man circling letters with his red marker. He shakes his head, answering Morgan’s question.

“I should have taken the gifts more seriously,” David says softly. He glances at Kurt’s empty office. The lights are on; yellow police tape makes an X across the door frame. The forensic team had already come and gone.

Morgan’s boots smack against the floor as he rises to his feet. “Don’t beat yourself up, Rossi.”

 _It was all there. I even teased him about the snow globe._ His chest squeezes and anger fills his lungs. _I’m the closest to him. I should have know something wasn’t right._ David stands, suddenly unable to sit any longer. _I shouldn’t have let the situation between Kurt and Hotch take all of my attention._

As if thinking his name is a summons, Hotchner comes through the doors of the BAU. Kurt’s husband, Dave Karofsy, is hot on his heels. _He looks like death warmed over._  Dark circles hang from the police officer’s eyes. His shoulders slump forward and his clothes are rumpled. _He might never see his husband again._ The thought sneaks in, stabbing David in the gut.  

He meets Hotch and Karofsky halfway to the desks. David briefly meets Hotch’s gaze, and the man’s eyes tighten. _They still haven’t found anything._ Hotchner had taken Dave and a CSI team to Kurt and Karofsky’s apartment to search for anything that could be useful. David reaches out and squeezes Karofsky’s shoulder. “We’re going to find him.”

Karofsky nods, but his grim look doesn’t lighten. The husband is a police officer. He knows how these things work. _Sometimes ignorance is bliss,_ David thinks. Kurt’s been missing approximately thirteen hours, and everyone in the room knows that the likelihood of finding a kidnapped victim alive drops significantly after the first twenty-four hours. _That just means we have to work harder and faster._

Hotchner motions for Karofsky  to take the seat David vacated. The chair rolls backwards, stopping with a thump at Reid’s desk. “Reid,” Hotch calls, “come join us.” Reid appears a moment later. He hurries down the few steps to the main floor and stops in the space between Prentiss and his own desks. The dry erase marker taps against his palm. He looks as tired as David feels.

 _We all got up early this morning._

“Tell me what you have,” Hotchner says, directing the question to the group.

“We aren’t going to wait for Garcia?” Prentiss asks, twisting in her chair to face Hotch. The sharp lines of her cheekbones are highlighted with her hair pulled back in a tight band. Her bangs cut across her forehead, dipping slightly over her eyes.

 _The last time she wore her hair like this, Kurt told her she needed a hair cut. He told her that being a woman in a male-dominated field was no excuse to look masculine._ The corner of David’s mouth tilts upward at the memory. Prentiss couldn’t decide if Kurt was trying being helpful or rude.

“I’ve already informed Garcia that we’re meeting. She’ll be here as soon as she can.” Prentiss accepts the answer with a nod.

No one seems to want to start, so David opens his notebook and speaks. “Kurt’s received  approximately five gifts from our unsub - flowers, a snow globe depicting New York City, a book of Shakespeare sonnets, a Christmas tree, and a CD of classic Broadway music with a love note attached. The nature of these gifts, as well as the nature of their delivery, indicates both someone who is very familiar with Kurt and his habits.” David looks at Hotch. “It also indicates a female. More than likely this female has built a fantasy relationship with Kurt.”

Karofsky interrupts. “Why would a female stalk Kurt? He’s blatantly gay.”

It’s Morgan who answers. “Normally you would be right. Most females wouldn’t see Kurt as a potential partner because he wears his sexuality on his sleeve. However, a dominant female might see him as someone easy to control.”

“Kurt?” Karofsky says with a snort. “Easy to control?”

“No,” Reid says. “I agree with Rossi. I think it’s a woman too. The flow of the letters indicates a right-handed female, more than likely someone who writes a lot. The letters are clear and easy to read. She probably writes notes for people in her job.”

Hotch nods, but Prentiss says, “If it is a woman, how did she get Kurt out of here? There’s no sign of a struggle in his office. Even though Kurt isn’t big, he’s tall. It would take considerable strength to drag him all the way outside to a vehicle.”

“Maybe she has an accomplice,” Morgan states.

Reid shakes his head. “A domineering woman wouldn’t let another man help with taking Kurt. Especially since she would know that he’s attracted to men. Having another man help would ruin the fantasy relationship she’s built.”

“She would if she felt in control of that person as well,” Hotchner adds.

 _A family member,_ David thinks. “A son?” he offers.

Hotch nods. “Let’s get Garcia on it.” He reaches over and picks up Morgan’s office phone. He buzzes her office through the speaker phone. The moment the dial tone ends he says, “Garcia, I want you to search any females who work or frequent the Quantico building with a son at least seventeen or older.”

“There’s no need,” Garcia says, voice tight with anger. “I know who took him.” Suddenly, everyone goes tense. “I just finished restoring the videos. It’s Martha Hamilton and a man in his early twenties. He looks like he’s suffers from brain damaged- a car accident a little more than a year ago.”

“Martha Hamilton?” Morgan says, surprised.

“Do you have her address?” Hotch asks.

Karofsky jumps to his feet and David glances at the man’s hopeful expression.

“1789 Bordwin Drive. It’s about ten minutes from here.”

David’s already heading for the door when Hotch says, “Let’s go.”

 

***

 

“Kurt, honey, are you ready to eat lunch? I’ve made your favorite, tuna salad on rye,” Martha says as she comes into the bedroom. She unfolds the metal chair leaning against the wall and takes a seat. She wraps her hand over his.

Kurt has to stop himself from flinching. She smells like onions and burnt toast. He aches from sitting so long, and his bladder is ruthlessly demanding his attention. “Martha, why are you doing this?” Kurt asks softly. This is the third time she’s come to see him, the first for a brief minute while she ran to comfort her anxious son- _And holy shit, who knew this woman mothered a child?_

The second time wasn’t long ago.  She had apologized for her son’s startled behavior, then ran her fingers down Kurt’s cheek. The touch was so unexpected that Kurt’s mouth flew open. Martha leaned in for a kiss, Kurt had jerked back, saying, “What the hell, Martha?” She had frowned and stormed out, leaving Kurt alone with no answers.

Now, her anger seems gone. “What do you mean?” Martha says.

 _What do I mean?_ Kurt thinks. He wants to snap out and slap her. “Why did you kidnap me?”

She huffs. “I didn’t kidnap you.” Her thumb rubs over Kurt’s knuckles. His stomach turns.

Kurt jerks his hands against the metal cuffs. They rattle against the wood armrest. The noise seems to startle her, and Martha’s hand slips off his. “You drugged me, took me to God knows where, and chained me to a rocking chair. That’s kidnapping.”

She crosses her arms and says, “You’re so dramatic. My Greggory used to be like that. It’s not an endearing quality.” A frown stretches across her mouth. “It’s a good thing love blinds us to our partner’s less desirable qualities.”

 _Love?_ “Martha, what do you think is going on here?”

She leans back in her chair. “What do I think? Oh, honey, I don’t think. I know.” She reaches out again and touches his wrist where the cuffs have reddened his skin.  “I know you were hesitant to leave your husband, but you did the right thing. We’ll be happier together.” She smiles and dips forward, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Her skin holds the scent of a floral perfume. The scent clogs Kurt’s nose, making him gag.

All of his training flies out the door. “Martha, we are not in a relationship. I don’t love you. You’re a delusional secretary for the FBI. I’m married and GAY.”

Martha flinches. Her skin flushes red and tears glisten her eyes. “Why would you say such hurtful things? I thought you were different.” Suddenly, she stands and her chair tumbles backwards, slamming into the dresser with a loud crack.  She pats her eyes with the sleeve of her rose colored sweater. She paces across the room, muttering, “Men are all the same. You give them everything and they throw you to the ground.” Footsteps pound against the carpet from outside the room.

“Momma?” Martha’s son peeks his head into the room. This time, Kurt gets a good look at the man. His features mirror Martha. He has the same sloped nose and pale skin as the older woman. However, there is one distinct feature that family members do not share. The man has a brutal scar, still shiny and pink, even though it’s clearly healed, cutting across  the top of his forehead. It disappears under his hairline, but from the way his hair thins in certain places, Kurt can tell that the scar goes almost halfway around his head.

“Michael,” Martha says, waving her hand in his direction.

“What’s wrong, Momma?” Michael says blinking from Kurt to Martha. He takes a step inside, hands fidgeting with the hem of his oversized reindeer sweater.

Matha sniffs, pats her eyes again, and says, “Oh, nothing dear. Kurt and I are just having an argument. Don’t be upset. I’ll be fine.”

Michael comes to her side and gives her a hug. His eyes narrow at Kurt. “You shouldn’t be mean to my Momma.”

“Michael,” Kurt says carefully. It’s obvious that the man has been in a serious accident, and his mind isn’t all there. “Your Mom has done something bad. She’s taken me from my friends and family. What she did was wrong.” Michael’s eyes go wide.  “Do you understand?”

Like lightening, Martha’s leaps forward and strikes Kurt’s face. The force of the slap jars his head backwards and slams it against the chair. Pain explodes across head, and then in his mouth. _I bit my tongue._

“Why are you ruining this?” Martha cries.

Kurt hears Michael shout, but when his vision clears and he looks up, Martha is shuffling her son from the room. He can hear her whispering in the hall, but her voice is too low for him to hear. Blood has filled Kurt’s mouth and dripped down his lips by the time she comes back inside.

She takes one look at him and starts to cry. “I’m sorry,” she says, stopping by the nightstand and tugging a few tissues from their box. She kneels before him and pleads, “Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to get so upset.” She dabs at Kurt’s lip, and he lets her wipe up the blood.

 _She’s crazy._ It’s not that Kurt didn’t think that before, because he’s been thinking it since the moment he woke. However, it’s not until she’s cleaning him up and checking the back of his head, that he realizes how unstable she is. _I’m going to have to pretend to be in love with her, or she’s going to kill me._ He had just told Dave last month that he wanted to practice his rusty acting skills. He never imagined he’d have to use them for something like this.  

 _God, Dave._ His husband’s face flashes through his mind. Kurt closes his eyes, trying to hold on to the image. _I might never see him again._ Grief swirls in his chest, making it hard to breath. _No,_ Kurt tells himself. _They’ll find me._

He has faith in his teammates, and his husband.

 

***

 

1789 Bordwin Drive is a ranch-style house with faded red shudders and pale beige stucco. The perfectly mowed grass is out of place with all the garden gnomes and plastic figurines in the yard. Aaron can see a full set of Santa’s reindeer, including a bright-nosed Rudolph, a blow-up snowman pegged to the ground with four cords, and a large set of present-shaped wire boxes.

“At least we don’t have to see it at night,”  he hears Rossi say to one of the police officers. Aaron sees the agent point to the strands of Christmas lights on top the house. “I imagine it lights up the block.”

He knows that Rossi is trying to cut the tension in the air, to relieve his own guilt, but Hotch doesn’t want to hear his jokes right now.  The SWAT team is outside their truck a few houses down, guns held tightly in their hands. Prentiss and Reid are standing by Dave’s police car, trying to keep the man occupied before they head inside. Morgan is beside him, arms crossed.

“So what’s the plan?” Rossi asks.

“Garcia said that after Martha’s son, Michael was in his accident last year, her husband, Greggory Hamilton, left shortly afterwards. He had an affair with a younger woman.”

“She’s going to be very unstable,” Morgan says. “And the son isn’t going to be much better.”

Rossi nods. “She’s been fixated on Kurt a long time. She’s not going to give him up without a fight.”

Aaron’s been through this enough times to know the possible outcome. “If we don’t get in there fast enough, she’s going to kill Kurt herself.” _I can’t let that happen._

Johnson, the head of the SWAT team jogs over. “Sir, we have confirmed three bodies in the house.” He points to the right. “One of my men can see a still form in the side bedroom. Thermal imagining shows the body is still alive.”

“That must be Kurt,” Rossi says.

Johnson keeps talking. “The other two forms keep moving through the house. Though for the last few minutes, the largest of the forms has settled in what we think is the living room.”

 _The son is probably watching television._ “I’m going to go knock on the door and see if I can get Martha to release Kurt.” Aaron’s pretty sure that isn’t going to work, but he has to try. “Have the SWAT team surround the house, ready.” Johnson nods. “Rossi, you and Morgan go around back.”

“Are you sure you want to go to the door alone?” Morgan asks.

Aaron doesn’t answer, he just moves forward, lips pressed together as his stomach clenches. He doesn’t look back; he knows everyone will get in position. The weight of his vest presses against his chest, but the pressure feels good, secure. His slips his gun from the holster at his hip and removes the safety, then slips the piece back in place. He feels better having it in hand, but if the son answers the door, Aaron doesn’t know how he’ll react.

He walks forward, footsteps slow and calculated. Aaron watches for movements in the curtain-covered windows or in the narrow, glass rectangle in the center of the front door. His feet touch the concrete walkway, and then he’s up the step and ringing the doorbell.

There’s a moment of nothing. Aaron can hear the muffled sound of the television and the sound of cars passing in the street over, then there are footsteps heading towards the door. Martha Hamilton’s gray-haired head appears in the window pane. Aaron can make out a pink top and dark colored pants.

“Agent Hotchner?” she says, tone confused. “What are you doing here? Is everything alright?” Her face is flushed.

Aaron doesn’t play any games. “Martha, I think you know why I’m here.”

She blinks and ducks her head. “No, I really don’t.”

“Momma?” A deep voice calls from beyond the foyer. “Who’s there, Momma?”

The door starts to close in Aaron’s face.”I’m sorry, Agent Hotchner. I have to go.”

Aaron presses his hand against the door. “Martha...”

Suddenly, she tries to slam the door shut. Aaron’s arm is in the way, but it pushes him backwards. She darts down the hall. “Go!” Aaron shouts into the com attached to the top of his vest. He runs after her, pulling his gun from the holster.

He catches the backside of her son as he follows his mother into the far right bedroom. Aaron picks up his speed. He rams into the mostly closed door. It flies open, banging into Martha’s son. He stumbles backwards into the wall. Martha has yanked open the top draw of a large dresser; she’s scrambling to pull out a long butcher knife. “Lower you weapon,” Aaron commands.

Kurt is a few feet away, handcuffed to a rocking chair. His gaze snaps to Aaron. _You’re going to be fine._ As if he has heard Aaron’s thoughts, Kurt gives a small nod.   _I’m going to get you out of this._ He aims his gun at Martha.

“He’s mine,” Martha sobs. Tears run down her face, smearing her eye makeup down her cheeks. “We love each other.” She holds the knife with both hands and takes a step towards Kurt. “Don’t separate us.”

“Martha,” Aaron says, voice strict and tight. Her eyes dart from Aaron to Kurt then back again. “Kurt isn’t yours. He doesn’t love you. He loves his husband, Dave. Dave is outside, waiting to kiss and hug Kurt again.”

“Stop it,” she screams.

Aaron doesn’t stop. “You don’t love Kurt either. I know about your husband, about Greggory.” She chokes out another sob. “I know he left you.”

“Greggory was a bastard,” she shouts. The knife trembles in her hand.

“Kurt resembles Greggory, doesn’t he? Same height and lean frame. The same colored hair and pale skin.”

“Momma,” Martha’s son calls out. He sounds confused, lost, but Aaron doesn’t dare spare a glance. If he takes his eyes off Martha she’ll take the space between her and Kurt. _The SWAT team is coming._ He can hear their boots stomping through the house. The rest of his team is probably coming as well.

“Kurt doesn’t love you,” Aaron says again, “and you don’t really love him. You love Greggory.”

She roars and springs forward. Aaron moves. His shoulder slams into her side, his hands grabs hers, squeezing the knife from her fingers. She cries out, startled and angry, but the second the knife clatters to the hardwood floors, she collapses in tears.

There’s a shot, then the sound of electricity. Aaron twists. One of Johnson’s men has tazered Martha’s son. He shaking on the ground, feet kicking into the wall. He only spares a glance, because then he’s handcuffing Martha, hands behind her back.

“Take them outside,” he directs. When they’re done, Aaron finally rises to his feet and looks at Kurt.

“Thank you,” Kurt says, voice hoarse. He ducks his head. It takes a second for Aaron to realize that Kurt’s crying.

“Find the keys to the cuffs,” Aaron shouts to the men in the hallway.

Morgan jogs into the bedroom. “Already ahead of you.” He kneels beside Kurt and unlocks one hand, then the other. A ring of red, abused flesh circles Kurt’s wrists. He rubs at them, and Aaron can’t help but notice the way his fingers tremble.

“Let’s get you out of here.” Aaron steps forward and eases his arm behind Kurt’s back.

Kurt tries to stand, but his legs won’t hold him. “I’ve been sitting too long,” Kurt says shakily. Footsteps bang down the hall.

“Kurt!”

Kurt’s head snaps up and more tears flood his eyes. “Dave,” he says. Dave has his arms around his husband in a blink of an eye.

Prentiss appears in the doorway. Her face is flushed. “Sorry, I couldn’t keep him out.” She takes a deep breath and takes a step towards Karofsky, but Aaron shakes his head.

 _Let him be._ Prentiss nods, looks at Kurt and his husband, then leaves the room.

“I love you,” Dave cries. Kurt buries his head in his husband’s shoulder. Aaron can’t hear the sobs, but he can see Kurt’s shoulders shaking.  

“Let’s give them some space,” Aaron says. He nods for Morgan to follow him out of the room.

The SWAT team moves around the house, making sure everything is secure. Aaron doesn’t stop walking until he’s outside. It’s begun snow. Thick, white flakes drift lazily through the air. Martha is in the backseat of a police car. One of the ambulances is gone, more than likely on its way to the hospital with Martha’s son and a pair of uniformed officers.

Rossi comes out the house and stops beside him. “You did good,” Rossi says.

“Everyone’s alive,” Aaron says in response.

Rossi nods. “That’s right. Everyone is alive.”

Kurt steps outside, body pressed hard against his husband’s side, weight fully supported. Dave eases Kurt down to the ambulance. His eyes never leave Kurt’s frame. Aaron watches as the medics swarm Kurt, doing their jobs. Morgan walks out of the house, and Prentiss and Reid come around the side, probably helping Johnson with securing the perimeter. The three of them stop near Aaron and Rossi.

They all watch as Kurt sits on the cot inside the ambulance. One of the medics drapes an orange blanket over his shoulders. Dave sits on the bench next to his husband, then tucks a strand of loose hair behind Kurt’s ear. Kurt smiles, it’s not a full grin, but it’s still recognizable as happiness. He tilts his head back and Dave cups his face and presses a gentle kiss to his lips.   

Aaron suddenly feels like he’s intruding. He turns to his agents, and they all share a look. The five of them may not have found the balance between love and work, but from that moment on Aaron knows they will do everything in their power to make sure Kurt lives that balance.

After all, Kurt’s one of his, and after all Aaron’s been through, all that he’s lost and learned, he knows that the most important thing in the world is to protect one’s own.

 

 **Epilogue **

 

The smell of hot dogs and fries salt the air. Kurt has his own picnic basket full of healthy goodies- a fruit salad and tuna sandwiches, but he knew the second they entered the park and saw the street vendors, that Dave would abandoned him to the greasy food.

“Want one?” Dave says, holding out the cup of fries. The rim of the paper cup is sticky with ketchup, and Dave has a bit of the red stuff on his lip.

“No thanks,” Kurt says with a smile. As Dave leans forward to set the cup on the ground, Kurt tugs his arm and presses kiss to his husband’s mouth. He makes sure to suck off the ketchup. “Mmm, salty.”  
Dave laughs. Kurt can’t help but steal another kiss. Dave’s happiness seeps into him like warm cocoa. When they break apart, Dave takes his hand and locks their fingers together.

Kurt gives his husband a little squeeze then says, “Can you see Rossi and Reid? They should be back by now.” Dave cranes his neck and looks around. “Oh, wait,” Kurt says as he spots them. “There they are.”

“Looks like they found Garcia.” Kurt nods. Even from here, a few hundred yards away, Kurt can make out Garcia’s bright blue dress and the giant red flower in her hair. Reid’s hands are waving near his face, obviously chatting her ear off, and Rossi has a crooked smile on his face.

Rossi catches Kurt’s wave, and the trio head in their direction. Kurt turns, making sure the blanket behind him is still spread out. He smooths the edge near him.

“Hello!” Garcia chirps.

Kurt and Dave make their greetings and the three other agents take a seat.

“I’m getting too old to sit on the ground,” Rossi gripes. His smile belies his complaint.

“Are those the fries from the vendor near the entrance?” Reid asks. Dave holds out the cup and Reid grins in delight. “Hotch is on his way,” Reid says, after he finishes his first fry.

“Morgan and Prentiss too,” Garcia adds. “They’re helping Hotch get the cooler from his car.”

As if their names were a summons, Morgan and Prentiss come up from behind. “Hey,” Morgan says as they set the giant red cooler at the edge of the blanket. “Beer has arrived.”

“I knew there was a reason we put up with you,” Rossi says.

Morgan laughs and Prentiss smiles, opens the cooler and tosses Rossi a beer. “Anybody else?” Prentiss offers.

Morgan reaches inside and takes his own, and Dave says, “I never say no to beer.”

“Kurt?” Morgan asks, holding out a beer.

He surprises everyone by taking it. “What?” Kurt says. “It’s a holiday. I’m allowing myself the extra calories.”

A squeal of laughter catches Kurt’s attention and he turns to look. “Hey Jack!” He calls out. The little boy dashes forward and throws himself onto Kurt’s blanket.  
Kurt can’t help but laugh. “Excited are we?”

Hotch looks a little out of breath, but sets his own cooler down and says, “Sorry we’re late. We had some issues getting into the car.”

“Fireworks!” Jack shouts and makes explosion noises accompanied by hand motions. He jumps into Kurt’s lap.

“Woah,” Kurt says, taken aback. He laughs as Jack wiggles around and settles himself down. “So, you like fireworks huh?”

Jack nods and says, “My dad said that you were going to bring sparklers.” Kurt looks over to Hotch and Hotch shrugs.

Rossi says, “You did say you were going to bring sparklers.”

Kurt glances at his mentor and replies, “Well, good thing I’m not a liar.” He leans back, careful  not to knock Jack from his lap, and tugs a plastic shopping bag from his picnic basket. “I bought enough sparklers for everyone.”

“Yes!” Jack says with fist pump.

Kurt holds out the package to Hotch. “Will you do the honors?”

Hotch smiles, an honest to God smile, and takes the bag. He gives all of them, Jack, Dave and all of his agents, a sparkler. They spend the next ten minutes lighting them and waving them through the air.

Eventually, it gets dark enough for the fireworks to start. Everyone settles into their places. Jack is back in his fathers laps. Morgan and Garcia are splayed against the big cooler. Prentiss is sipping on her beer, elbow propped next to Reid. Rossi has his legs near Kurt, and Kurt is pressed against Dave’s side. His husband’s arm holds him in place. They watch as colors explode in the sky. Music booms over the loud speakers set around the park.

As one particularly large red booms above, Dave kisses his cheek and says, “Happy Fourth of July.”

“Happy Fourth of July,” Kurt whispers back. He looks around, taking in his husband and teammates, his family, and thinks, _There’s nowhere else I’d rather be._

 

 

 


End file.
